This past week, I’ve been quite busy fighting off a head cold. I’ve been lucky enough to have family help out with Chase as I sleep most of the day away while watching mass amounts of Harry Potter. But all this time held up in bed has caused my mind to wander. Yesterday evening, I started thinking about how Skylar would soon be here. I would soon be able to hold her, hug her, kiss her, and try not to screw her up too much (just enough to make her funny). Then something triggered my brain to think back six years ago to a dreary February night. One that I stumble across from time to time, but when it came to me yesterday, I was quite astonished… and so very grateful.

Everyone has skeletons in their closet. Everyone has said or done things they wish they could take back or erase from their lives completely. Not many people know about one event in particular of mine. Six years ago, I tried to kill myself and came dangerously close to succeeding. A lot was going on in my life, and I did not handle it well. I spiraled into a depression a few months prior and was thrown into taking an anti-depressant and a mood stabilizer to try and combat the symptoms. It didn’t help. It didn’t help because they made me feel worse. I didn’t like the fact that I had a bunch of pills thrown at me so I could be “normal.” Pair that with just everyday growing up and a teenager who (I can openly admit this years later) was overly dramatic, and the result can be catastrophic. After a particularly nasty fight with my mom and step-dad, I had had enough. I took what was left of my anti-depressants and mood stabilizers (about 40 pills in all) and started throwing them back like candy. About an hour later, they started kicking in. I laid down in my bed, and was very prepared to not wake up from the nap I was about to take. Thinking back on it now, it’s scary even to me how calm I felt during the whole process. In my mind at the time, it was a sign from somewhere that this is what I was supposed to be doing. Removing myself from everyone, removing “the problem” from everyone’s life. I don’t know how much time had passed, but my sister, who would have been about 13 at the time, walked into my bedroom to wake me up for dinner. I told her I’d be down in a few minutes, and she left. As I laid there, I was quite astonished that she had been able to wake me up. And I couldn’t believe how thirsty I was. It was that split second decision that saved my life. It was me, getting out of bed to get a drink of water that caused a chain reaction. When I stood up, I couldn’t get one foot in front of the other. I guess more than a few minutes had gone by, because suddenly, as I collapsed to the floor in a heap, my mom walked in. From here on out, I only remember bits and pieces. I remember her yelling at me, hitting me once to try and illicit a response, and then screaming for Mike (my step-dad) to get the phone. I remember her talking to the 911 operator, and her changing me out of my clothes (because I had started throwing up violently and uncontrollably). I don’t remember the medics arriving, picking me up, carrying me out through the garage, or being loaded into the ambulance. I just remember being very tired and wanting to sleep, but one of the medics (a male) kept telling me to stay awake. I told him it was hard and I just wanted to stop throwing up. He brushed the hair off my face, said he understood, but if I stayed awake, he could make it go away. I blacked out seconds later.

Once again, time has no meaning. I don’t remember being taken into the hospital, being hooked up to IV’s and monitors, or what was done during the time I was blacked out. I barely remember anything from the hospital, except taking charcoal to make me throw up the rest of the contents of my stomach, which I was not thrilled about. The next day, I was transferred down to a Colorado Springs mental health facility on a three-day hold. I’m still astonished that I not only tried to end my life, but how close I came to succeeding. I try not to dwell on it too much, and pretty much only family and close friends know the story (and even then, not the complete version). So why would I not only remember all of this now, but decide to post it on my blog, for the entire world, and one day my kids, to see? Because Skylar will be born six years, almost to the day, after my suicide attempt. How crazy beautiful is that? I mean think about it. I’ve learned and grown so much, but what better way to celebrate that fact that I lived through that?! I think about all the things I’ve done the past six years, and while not all of it was easy, all of it was worth it. I learned to be happier with myself, I found an amazing man I now call my husband, I have a wonderful little boy who I can’t imagine not having, and soon, to complete my family, Skylar. I think it’s amazing how life ends up working out in the end. But only if we let it. I sabotaged myself in life a lot, in fact, I still do from time to time. But I’m still choosing to learn and grow from all these experiences. And I honestly can’t think of a better way to celebrate six “extra” years of life than with the birth of my daughter. Realizing what her birth meant and the day it will almost fall on really is an amazing and wonderful thing. Or at least I think it is. It’s not often we are given second chances in general, let alone at your whole life, but I consider myself one of the lucky ones because I do.

Chase and Skylar – if you end up reading this one day, please realize that I hope you never have to go through this. I want nothing but happiness for both of you. You both mean the world to me, and don’t ever think that you could do ANYTHING to change that. I hope I remember to tell you both that enough in your lives, as well as how much I love you both. You’ve both completed me and your father. You two are amazing people that I cherish everyday. Please promise me that if you ever feel that low to try and take your life, you’ll call each other, your father, another family member, or myself. Never feel alone, because you aren’t, and you never will be. I love you both terribly. – Mommy

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Maniac Mom

My name is Kristen and I suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder. This is my hysterical journey as a mom of two dealing with life twists and turns while trying to not let my "crazy" get too out of hand. I strive to be a happily depressed mom.Grab a cup of coffee or a shot of vodka and bask in the mania!